by Nina Clare
Harriet stared back and shook her head to show that she had not anything much to say to that idea.
‘I have a gift, Harriet. I could not very well be the daughter of the Wild Man Guardian without some fae gift.’ She put a hand to her hair. ‘My gift is of foretelling.’ She leaned forward, as though she had a great secret to impart. Harriet mirrored her and leant in.
‘When first I saw you, Harriet, I had a foretelling that you had an excellent marriage before you.’
Harriet gave a little ‘Oh!’ of surprise, and drew back again. ‘And are your foretellings always right?’
‘Invariably. At least my father says so.’ She took a sip of tea and then another smile flashed across her face. ‘Moreover, I have just had another delightful idea. What if you were to be my ward while I am in training? It would be excellent practise for me, and it would aid you in determining your future, would it not? I propose that if I have made you an advantageous match by Midsummer, then I will have done you a good turn, for you will be able to make up your mind one way or the other more decidedly. What do you say to that?’
‘Me, be your ward?’
‘Of course, I shall only be a Godmother-in-training, but I learn things very quickly. I was always ahead of my sister in our studies, and she is full six years older than me.’
Harriet stared into her cup. ‘Me, be your ward. What would Mother Goodword say? I think the wards have to come from the Council.’
‘I propose we do not mention the idea to Mother Goodword, or anyone else,’ said Mistress Woodhouse. ‘Did you not say that these things ought always to be kept secret?’
‘I have never had a secret from Mother Goodword before,’ said Harriet slowly.
‘Would she not be pleased to know you were exploring your future choices?’ Mistress Woodhouse said. ‘Choosing your future is a decision of the utmost gravity, Harriet. And I do not think you ought to throw yourself into either path without giving full consideration to it.’
‘But the Council,’ said Harriet.
‘It is not an official match,’ argued Emma. ‘It is a practice one.’
‘Mother Goodword did say I must discern my own heart,’ said Harriet gravely. ‘Perhaps you are right, Mistress Woodhouse. Perhaps the choice that Mother Goodword talked of is exactly the one you speak of. Perhaps I do need to consider the choice of marriage.’
‘That is exactly my thoughts,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, as though that settled the matter. ‘Try one of these cakes. Our cook is an excellent baker.’
Harriet was happy to comply, and took the little china plate of cake, with its tiny silver fork. She was aware that Mistress Woodhouse was still regarding her closely.
‘You have just the kind of beauty I admire, Harriet. And such a sweet nature. What man could resist you?’
Harriet blushed, and would have protested, but she worried that she would have cake on her teeth at that moment, for it was so delightfully creamy in the middle.
‘Who are your parents, Harriet?’
Harriet swallowed. ‘I do not know,’ she admitted, putting her hand up to hide her sticky teeth. ‘I was placed in Mother Goodword’s care as a little girl, and nothing was said of where I came from, and I do not remember a great deal about it. Although… I could never forget the eels.’ Harriet gave a little shudder and put down her fork.
‘Eels?’
‘Marsh eels,’ said Harriet in a small voice, looking so distressed that Mistress Woodhouse did not press her any further on the subject for the time being. Mistress Woodhouse was not one for venturing into unpleasant subjects.
‘You have not the coarse features of a labourer’s child. You have quite the look of a lady. Surely you are the daughter of well-born parents. There must be some romantic tragedy in your parentage. It cannot possibly be anything base and common, not with such a delicate nose as you have. A nose is a very decided thing in determining the quality of one’s bloodline. I have often observed it.’
Harriet blushed and laughed again and rubbed her nose self-consciously.
‘You merely want a little polish, a little exposure to good society and good manners. Your loveliness simply requires a little finishing to make you quite perfect. I see no reason why you cannot make an excellent marriage. You shall be my ward. It shall be our secret project. I am sorely in need of a project.’
‘Oh, Mistress Woodhouse, you are too kind. But… it would only be a practising exercise. I would only be your practise ward. I really do not think I wish to leave the school and my training.’
Mistress Woodhouse frowned. ‘Take a sip of tea, dear. You have cake on your teeth. We shall call it a practise exercise, just as you say. You shall be my practise ward. But if my foretelling proves correct in the end, I shall not be taken by surprise.’ Mistress Woodhouse bestowed a wise and confident smile on her uncertain new friend.
They finished their tea and cake in silence. Mistress Woodhouse seemed to be thinking things over. Finally, she put down her empty cup and said, ‘I thought we might go for a walk. Since my companion and former governess left us to marry, I have been in sad want of a walking companion. Would you do me the kindness, Harriet, and be my walking companion? I am very fond of walking, though I cannot venture beyond the environs of Highbury and Donwell.’
‘Oh, Mistress Woodhouse, it would be an honour to be your walking companion!’
‘I may send word to you at the school when I need you?’
‘Oh, to be sure. I shall come directly whenever you need me, though I have classes to teach in the mornings on weekdays, and I must work on my assignment.’
‘Then we shall put on our cloaks, I have not been beyond the shrubbery this past week. We will take the Donwell road, and you may tell me all about your summer, I believe you said you were staying with a family of Master Knightley’s tenants?’
6
Plans and Projects
Mistress Woodhouse was like an early summer breeze, drifting into the parlour with her beautiful mass of plaits and ringlets and her elegant coat of mossy green which brought out the colour of her eyes. She really was a treat to look at, Mother Goodword thought. The hint of green in her eyes and the superlative mass of soft brown hair were certainly of fae origin; she could almost rival the West Wind in looks.
‘Thank you for bringing Harriet the other evening, Mother Goodword. She is a delightful creature, and I am happy to make her acquaintance.’
‘Harriet is a very good-hearted girl, Mistress Woodhouse.’
‘I should like to make a companion of her, if you have no objection?’
Mother Goodword tilted her head as though she were thinking over this request while she measured out dried flowers into her teapot.
‘I have no companion now that my former governess has left Hartfield for her own happy establishment.’
‘Mistress Weston was a pleasure to assist.’
‘Assist?’ Mistress Woodhouse frowned. ‘She had no assistance from yourself, I am sure.’
Mother Goodword was too engaged in carefully adding steaming water to reply.
‘It was I who assisted my dearest friend and good Master Weston,’ said Mistress Woodhouse. ‘I encouraged his attentions. I promoted the match.’ She smiled brightly. ‘It is exactly my success in their matchmaking that gives me reason to suppose that I am quite naturally a matchmaker, and thus would make an excellent Godmother.’
Mother Goodword moved to her sideboard where she took down a pair of cups and saucers and brought them to the parlour table.
Mistress Woodhouse frowned again. ‘Do you mean to say that you had a part in the match?’
‘A small one,’ said Mother Goodword modestly. ‘Little things. A rain shower to prompt Master Weston’s gallantry towards Mistress Weston, Maid Taylor, as she was.’
Mistress Woodhouse gave a little gasp. ‘That was you? That day in Gypsy Lane, when Master Weston ran to Farmer Mitchell’s for an umbrella? That was the very moment I first thought of them as a good match!’
&nbs
p; Mother Goodword nodded. ‘That was the beginning. No doubt you felt the first degree of awakening love in that moment, and thus the match occurred to you also.’
‘What else?’ Mistress Woodhouse looked both interested and piqued at the same time.
‘Little soft winds, to stir up softer thoughts, drifts of fragrance to rouse up nostalgia, little poems and songs of romance to remind him of his own romantic heart. All the usual things required to awaken sleeping desires. It did not take much. Master Weston is not one to enjoy living alone. I only had to remind him of this at the right time.’
‘Well,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, folding her hands decidedly. ‘And I was sure the work was all my own.’
‘I do not doubt that you had your part in the match,’ Mother Goodword said graciously. ‘My part was all on Master Weston’s side, it was your encouraging influence on Mistress Weston that helped move things along more quickly. And it was an excellent match.’
‘Yes,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, looking happier. ‘And speaking of excellent matches, I must say that I have my concerns regarding Harriet.’
‘Oh?’ It was Mother Goodword’s turn to frown.
‘Yesterday, as we walked out, we met the clumsiest looking farmer imaginable. Robert Martin, I understand his name is. I was astonished to see how much Harriet blushed and smiled to see him. I understand she is very familiar with him through his sisters. I fear there may be a danger there, one that I, as her friend, do not intend to ignore.’
‘The Martin family are very good people,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘Robert Martin is a sensible young man. But even so, Harriet has chosen the course of a Godmother, not of marriage.’
‘I understand that Harriet has not absolutely determined her course as a Godmother,’ said Mistress Woodhouse with the air of someone who is very sure of what they know. ‘Therefore, the option of marriage is not entirely eclipsed for her. And as to the Martins, I am sure they are good people in their way, and I have no doubt he is a sensible man. They are tenants of Master Knightley, and he would not retain any tenant who was not of worth, but you must agree that Harriet is far superior in rank to a mere farmer. Perhaps she ought not to spend so much time with such a family, why the brother was positively clownish.’
Mother Goodword gave a warning look to Cloe-Claws, who was making growls from the window seat. ‘I would not use such a word as clownish in regard to a man such as Master Martin.’
Mistress Woodhouse looked provoked at being contradicted, and opened her mouth to say something in reply, but Mother Goodword handed her a cup of chamomile tea, and said ‘Honey?’ The honey glowed in the glass bowl, the fae bees made honey that sweetened anyone, dissolving any bitter word or thought.
‘Just a little. Thank you.’ The moment of tension was diverted. ‘It has been interesting talking to Harriet about the school and of what your students learn. If I do commit to becoming a Sister, I would need some way of condensing the learning. I cannot spend ten years studying as the children do before beginning my training.’
‘I have already considered that,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘I shall be glad to give you a series of written classes to ground you in all the foundational studies. I can give you exercises and you will have until Midsummer to know with certainty if the vocation of a Godmother is for you.’
‘Written classes?’ said Mistress Woodhouse. ‘I imagined I would study directly with you.’
‘I have to go away,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘The Council has given me an assignment, and I am unsure of its duration. You can wait for my return or you can begin in the meantime by studying the lessons from the comfort of Hartfield.’
Mistress Woodhouse looked as though she thought it very inconsiderate of the Council to take Mother Goodword away when she wanted otherwise.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I shall take them in writing until your return. I dislike delay. Once I make my mind up to a thing I generally do it. So long as I find I am good at it, of course.’ She smiled. ‘But I have every confidence that I shall be a good Godmother.’
‘It is a vocation, Mistress Woodhouse. It chooses you, not the other way around. If you have the calling upon you, then you will know it in time, and I will do my utmost to help you in that decision. But it is not for everyone.’
‘I do not wish to become a teacher, Mother Goodword, I must make that plain. I am sure I am not called to that. I like children very well, but I don’t think I have the patience for teaching. I recall how troublesome I sometimes was to my own governess – I cannot imagine how trying it would be to oversee ten children at once.’
‘The Sisters teach to consolidate their own learning. We shall find other ways to consolidate your lessons.’
‘I should like Harriet to join me in my lessons. I know she has completed her foundational studies, but she seems a little vague on some subjects. It might be good for her to refresh her learning, and she is such a pleasant companion.’
‘I am in agreement with you, Mistress Woodhouse. It would be good for her to revise them.’
‘Excellent,’ said Mistress Woodhouse. ‘And what shall be our first lesson? Perhaps we could start with matchmaking. That seems to me to be a most worthy subject.’
Mother Goodword shook her head. ‘It is important to begin at the beginning. Marriage-making is an advanced study. Weather and nature and inanimate objects are child’s play in comparison to the complex workings of the heart. We must begin at the beginning.’
Mistress Woodhouse looked disappointed, but the look passed quickly. Mistress Woodhouse was not a person to dwell long on anything disagreeable, but Mother Goodword’s senses prickled. Mistress Woodhouse was not so pliant a character, as Harriet was. There could be trouble ahead.
Harriet came in, fresh and smiling, and making a little bow of greeting to Mistress Woodhouse before taking a seat.
‘I have been trying to persuade Mother Goodword to give me my first lesson in matchmaking,’ Mistress Woodhouse told Harriet.
‘Oh, please do, Mother Goodword,’ Harriet begged.
Mother Goodword was about to repeat that it was too advanced a subject for a first lesson, but then it struck her that with so much change in the Winds, it might be wise to advance all her students on. She did not know how much longer she might be with them. A very elementary lesson could do little harm. Mistress Woodhouse was not a schoolgirl, she was Lady Bountiful of Highbury. Daughter of the Wild Man Guardian, a descendent of the Green Man himself.
‘Very well,’ she agreed.
‘Oh, Mother Goodword, thank you!’ Harriet, clapped her hands and beamed at Mistress Woodhouse.
‘Delightful,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, her composure unaffected, but her eyes glowing with pleasure. Both young ladies bent their heads to listen closely.
‘The first rule of matchmaking is not to impose your own ideas of suitability upon your ward. There are always factors unknown that may make what appears to be a disparate match desirable, and an obvious match undesirable. Such is the nature of love and destiny. A Godmother must always put her own feelings and ideas aside. She is merely a channel through which aid and assistance may flow. She is not the director; she is the facilitator.’
Mistress Woodhouse was nodding, but she looked complacent.
‘I’ve always found this part hard,’ admitted Harriet. ‘It is so difficult to put one’s feelings and ideas aside. I have so very many feelings and ideas, I have them all day long.’
‘It does not sound very difficult,’ said Mistress Woodhouse. ‘But where exactly do we put our thoughts and feelings?’
‘Into silence,’ Mother Goodword replied. ‘The most effective strategy I have found for beginners, is to take a line from The Godmother’s Book of Proverbial Wisdom and consider it closely without distraction. Do this every day at regular intervals, and you will soon naturally acquire the art of removing your own thoughts from your mind, and becoming highly aware of other people’s energies, and of what is going on around you, both seen and, more importantl
y, unseen.’
Harriet nodded, but still looked troubled. ‘It is very difficult,’ she murmured to Mistress Woodhouse. ‘
‘What of reason?’ Mistress Woodhouse asked. ‘What of common sense and logic? Are all such things to be disregarded in place of learning to listen and see invisible things?’
‘Reason and common sense are not to be abandoned, but they are not to be relied upon solely. They can only pertain to that which is readily seen and heard. A Godmother must be able to discern what is unseen as easily as a well-regulated mind can discern what is seen in the natural. Do you understand?’
Mistress Woodhouse looked as though she were pondering this. Harriet looked strained.
‘So,’ began Mistress Woodhouse, ‘it is like moving in two worlds at the same time. It is like having a pair of magical spectacles to put on that you might see what is not usually seen by the ordinary eye. It is like having a magical hearing trumpet, that one might hear what is not heard by the ordinary ear, is that so?’
Mother Goodword nodded her silvery head. ‘Excellent analogy, Mistress Woodhouse. Does that help you, Harriet?’
Harriet frowned and said, ‘I believe so. But… where do we get such spectacles and hearing trumpets?’
‘Oh, Harriet,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, ‘I did not mean an actual pair of magical spectacles, though such a thing would be useful… I suppose you do not happen to have such a pair, Mother Goodword?’
‘I do not.’
‘I wish you did,’ sighed Harriet.
‘So,’ resumed Mistress Woodhouse, after taking a sip of her tea. ‘We practise silencing our natural thoughts, we learn to see and hear what is beyond the rational world about us. We must gain a sensitivity to the unseen, something I know a deal of already due to my father’s position. But then what? How does this sensitivity lead us to discerning our ward’s best match?’